night

The sun has set, heavy clouds block out any chance of light from moon or stars. The dim yellow street lights sparsely located throughout the monastery do little to light the way. Still the old monks korwa, take their evening walk around the old section, circumambulating the old temples of Sera Jey and Sera Mey. The clicking of their mala beads, the whispered mantra on their lips and the shuffling of their feet mark their passing.

The night birds sing overhead, in the distant courtyard the sounds of debate rise and fall. It is said by some that the Geluk don't meditate enough. What they fail to realize that debate is a form of analytical meditation. It offers the opportunity to examine closely what you have been to taught, to ensure that you have learned it correctly and to correct what you have not.

Fires burn in the fields. An Indian family banters back and forth while cleaning after the evening meal. I make my way to the home of some western monks. Through the gate and into the inner courtyard. I stand there alone for a moment. This is a place where the Buddha's teachings are loved and practiced. A tall silent monk appears, he is silhouetted by the dim light, his robes draped gracefully about him so regal and so simple. A slow steady gate as he approaches, so calm, so peaceful. He greats me with a warm smile and a friendly voice, not much above a whisper. We chat, his Australian accent which should seem so alien here does not. I take my leave and return the streets and greet the passing Geshe's as I go.

Bilbo